On the Wrong Side of that Iron Door
by ilovetvalot
Summary: Spencer Reid was on the wrong side of that iron door and the blame rested at the feet of one man...Derek Morgan. Sequel to Wingman, Interrupted. TWOSHOT
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: S****ignups are underway on "Chit Chat on Author's Corner" forum for the Criminal Minds Christmas Gift Fic Exchange through 10/31/11. For anyone that has time to participate, swing by and take a look. Simply tell us what pairings you are willing to write, which pairings you WON'T write, whether your write slash or not, the pairing you'd like to RECEIVE as a gift, and one Christmas carol prompt and three Christmas/Holiday theme prompts. For example: Silent Night (carol), reindeer, Christmas tree, blue holiday lights. For anyone that has any questions, simply PM me.**

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**On The Wrong Side of that Iron Door**

**Chapter One**

Sullenly staring through the thirty-six iron bars (yes, he'd been that bored that he'd counted) that separated him from freedom, Dr. Spencer Reid silently seethed, grinding his teeth together as he waited for his so-called friend to arrive.

He'd had high hopes when this evening had commenced. In hindsight, obviously entirely too high.

Why had he taken Derek Morgan's lousy advice? Time to move from wingman to pilot, the elder man had said when they'd spoken earlier in the night on the phone and the other profiler had backed out of their plans to go to a local nightclub. "But that shouldn't stop you," Morgan had said as an unexpected feminine laugh had echoed through the line, "You've been studying at the feet of a master for months now. It's time for your first solo mission. Go get some, Pretty Boy!"

He had the intellect of a genius...an IQ so high that it terrified most people. These were documented truths that could not be denied. So, how was it that such a keen mind had not managed to evade arrest? Better yet, why had he taken Derek's guidance in the first place? He could have been home tonight, munching on a bowl of popcorn, watching the Dr. Who marathon on the BBC.

It was one of those moments that he should have taken the extra second to properly analyze his emotions and reactions rather than wildly jumping into the fray with both feet. He was a trained scientist, after all. He was well aware of the scientific method and the reasonable analysis that was expected, nay demanded!, in order to evaluate all possible outcomes based on proven interaction of all of the combustibles that could possibly occur in any situation.

But he hadn't. But, no, he'd allowed himself to be goaded out of his house, the niggling mockery in Morgan's voice enough to make him determined to achieve lift-off on his own tonight, damn the historical precedents that would beg to differ.

And now, here he sat.

A criminal.

A convict.

A recognized and decorated Federal agent with an otherwise pristine service record marred forever by an arrest for, of all things, solicitation!

Leaning his head back against the cement wall behind him, Spencer breathed shallowly, the pungent smell of rancid human and alcohol hanging heavily in the air.

This was all Derek Morgan's fault, and Reid would be entirely lucky if homicide wasn't added to his growing list of offenses. With solicitation and resisting arrest already on his record, what was a little murder rap added to the mix?

Rising from the wooden bench along the wall, Spencer paced the small cell. At least he could be grateful that he was the solitary occupant. From his hastily viewed inspection of the other cells, seen as he had been ingloriously marched into his current cage, he realized that the others were at least double and triple occupied.

But then, his rational mind reminded him, he was technically considered police. And police officers were always segregated from the general population for their own safety. Although, right then, he was more than willing to take his chances with the drunks and two-bit petty thieves. They couldn't be any worse than the future he would be facing, could they?

The sound of scraping metal interrupted his depressed musings, and Reid's eyes flew open, well expecting to see his gloating absentee partner. But the face staring at him through the metal bars was not the expected grinning, mischievous face of Derek Morgan.

Oh, no. This face was completely devoid of a single emotion that could remotely be characterized as a grin.

This face belonged to Aaron Hotchner. And he was not smiling.

Not at all.

"Hotch?" Spencer asked incredulously, his eyes widening in shock and surprise. "Why…how…"

"Protocol, Dr. Reid," Hotch said evenly, crossing his arms over his chest, his jersey jacket scrunching around his shoulders. "It's standard procedure for the DCPD to call the supervising agent in cases like this. One agency tries to watch the back of the other agency. Although, I have to admit that I fully expected to be getting this call one day about Morgan instead of you."

"It's all his fault!" Reid blurted out as he rubbed one hand over his eyes, willing this obvious hallucination to go away immediately. "He should be the one here instead of me! I only did what he told me to do!"

"Morgan told you to solicit an undercover cop for sex in a bar?" Hotch asked drily, arching one dark brow.

"Not exactly," Reid hedged, flushing as his Unit Chief's dark eyes bore through the metal bars separating them. Perhaps being on this side wasn't as bad as he'd earlier assumed, he thought desperately as he watched Hotch's jaw clench.

Opening his mouth to retort, Hotch abruptly stopped as both men heard the deep familiar masculine laughter filtering down the long concrete corridor. "Is that..."

"Morgan!" Reid yelled, holding on to the bars and attempted to see down the hallway.

Hearing the metal scrape of keys unlocking a door, Reid held his breath as his erstwhile partner in crime emerged around the corner.

"So...somebody spent a night in the pokey, huh? What'd ya do, Pretty Boy? Jay walk?" Morgan teased as he walked closer, unaware as yet to Aaron Hotchner's presence.

Glaring at one of his most senior profilers, Hotch growled, "You wish. He's been arrested for solicitation."

"...and resisting arrest," Reid mumbled, looking guiltily down at the soiled floor beneath his feet before jerking his head up again. "But, Hotch, I assure you it was a huge misunderstanding."

Eyes wide, Morgan involuntarily took a step back as he felt the menacing weight of two gazes fall on him. "Now hold on here! How can I be blamed for this? I was home with a fine honey tonight."

"I was following your advice," Reid bit out, glaring through the bars at the man that was conveniently free on the other side.

"And you let someone as inexperienced as Reid loose in one of the wildest nightclubs in D.C.," Hotch added dangerously.

"Hey!" Reid yelped, turning affronted eyes toward his boss.

"Which part of my statement was inaccurate, Dr. Reid?" Hotch asked sarcastically, raising an inky brow as he waited for an answer.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: BIG ANNOUNCEMENT - THE FINAL VOTING BALLOT IS AVAILABLE FOR THE SECOND ANNUAL PROFILER'S CHOICE CM AWARDS on "CHIT CHAT ON AUTHOR'S CORNER" FORUM. Please take this opportunity to recognize some wonderful author's and their stunning pieces of fic. Voting ends 11/30/2011. Two Amazon gift cards will be given to two RANDOM voters that take the time to vote in ten or more categories. Congratulations to all of this year's nominees. Now, let's all read some CM fic!**_

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**On The Wrong Side of That Iron Door**

**Chapter Two**

"Well, none, I suppose," Reid mumbled, his nose twitching slightly. "But, he," Reid said, jabbing a finger through the iron bars at Morgan accusingly, "told me I was ready to fly solo! Be my own pilot...Wingman no more..." he babbled.

"I never mentioned flying your plane with a ho," Morgan said defensively.

"Oh, but she wasn't a, as you so aptly put it, ho, Derek," Hotch explained slowly. "She was an undercover officer for Vice. Reid here, or as our Director liked to refer to him, the most successful story the FBI ever produced...he proposition a cop! TWICE!" Hotch said, finishing his statement on an uncharacteristic shout.

"The music was loud," Reid groaned. "I thought she just didn't hear my first suggestion."

Bursting into laughter, Morgan took a step nearer the cell. "At least tell me she was hot, Genius."

"Shut up," Reid growled, his cheeks growing hot under the fluorescent lights above.

"Reid, the report indicates you tried to...request Officer Javera's attentions three times," Hotch stated, taking a deep breath. "Why, in the name of God, after being shot down twice, would you try a third time?"

"Because, he," Reid choked out as he nodded toward a still grinning Morgan, "told me that the first two denials are an automatic reflex in a club environment. The is try, try and try again. If she shot down my request a third time, she really meant it," he explained to Hotch meekly.

"You actually told him that?" Hotch asked tersely, turning an angry stare toward Morgan.

Morgan shrugged. "Hey, Hotch, you've been outta the game a long time, man. Them's the rules now."

"You told me I was ready," Reid argued belligerently. "The sky was my limit, remember?"

"How was I supposed to know you'd crash and burn on the first test run?" Morgan returned, looking harassed as he felt both men turn their collective gaze on him. "I'm not the one that got picked up by the po po, Hotch."

Pressing his lips together, Hotch forced himself to count to ten. "Not for lack of your trying, Derek," Hotch finally bit out. Shifting his eyes back to Reid, he ordered, "Explain the resisting arrest."

"I...uhmmm...well, that's where it gets tricky. When Officer Javera indicating that she was going to arrest me by slamming me against the wall, I attempted to produce my identification. I mistakenly believed if I could just show her my badge and allow her to see that I was actually a Federal Agent, she might realize that my previous attempts to engage her interest were perfectly innocent."

"And how'd she react to that?" Morgan chuckled, undaunted by Hotch's soft growl of impatience.

"Well, the knee she used to dislodge my external genitals was a fairly efficient way of containing me," Reid retorted, glaring heatedly at Derek.

"So, you never even pulled your badge?" Derek asked, covering his laughter with a cough.

"No!" Reid exclaimed. "Before I realized it, she had me sprawled on the ground, had her knee in my back, and was shackling me in handcuffs!"

"Now, what did I tell you about keeping your badge handy?" Morgan admonished, rolling his eyes as he shook his head.

"If I'd reached for anything again, I firmly believe she would have shot me!" Reid said frantically, pushing his hair off his face. "She had that bloodthirsty look in her eyes...the one JJ had right before she gave birth! Remember?" he asked Hotch eagerly. "It was clearly the one that said, 'Make a move and die'!"

"Well, hell, Pretty Boy, she'd already taken aim at your 'nads, and those are the parts that make life worth living anyway," Morgan winced, dropping a hand to cover his own genitals in silent commiseration.

"You are not helping," Hotch ground out, his grim face promising future retribution to the other man.

A quiet cough behind the group of men caught the attention of all three men.

"Oh my God," Reid shrieked, taking a reflexive step backward as he pointed at the curvaceous woman standing behind Hotch and Morgan. "It's her!" he yelled, walking backward until he hit the wall as he clapped both hands over his groin.

Smiling sympathetically at Reid, Officer Javera took a step forward, her stilettos clicking against the concrete floor. "Hello, Dr. Reid," she said softly. "Doing okay?"

"I think that's a rather unfortunate question, don't you, Officer?" Hotch asked dryly.

"I suppose it is." Officer Javera grimaced. "But I come bearing good news. Your story checked out, Dr. Reid," she called into the cell.

"The word "story" suggests that I was telling you a fabrication," Reid replied, cocking his head. "I assure you, everything I told you and your colleagues was the genuine truth."

"Yes, well, we realize that now," she nodded, fishing her keys from the pocket of her leather skirt.

"Oh, God," Reid yelped, "She's coming in here, Hotch! Morgan, do something!" Reid yelled.

"No, Doctor, you're being released. I've formally dropped all charges," she said, offering the cowering man an encouraging smile. "You're free to go."

"Go?" Reid echoed.

"With no formal record of this event?" Hotch inquired professionally as the young Latino woman slid open the metal door.

"Absolutely no record," Officer Javera agreed, her eyes soft as she watched Reid reluctantly approach the open doorway. "I'm very sorry, Dr. Reid, for the misunderstanding."

"See," Morgan grinned, clapping Reid on his bony back as he reached the threshold, "All's well that ends well."

"You wouldn't have said that if you'd been the one in the cell," Reid muttered, smiling stiffly at the buxom officer as he passed, still suspicious.

Guiding the men toward the door, Hotch and Reid exchanged a look as they heard Morgan smoothly ask, "So, chica, what time does your shift end?"

Opening the door for Reid, Hotch sighed as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. "Look at it this way. Maybe she'll crush his testicles next."

And as Reid walked out the door, he smiled.

A guy could hope.

_**Finis**_


End file.
